?Who hired you for the job??
?An ole boy I was drinking with. But he didn?t show up at the convoy.?
?Convoy??
?There was one truck and an SUV and a couple of cars.?
?Where were you drinking when you met the guy who hired you??
?At Ouzel?s place. Or at least I think I was.?
?What was this ole boy?s name??
?I don?t know. I was drunk.?
?So as far as you know, the shooter could have been Hugo, not Preacher??
?It could have been anybody. I told you, sir, I took off.?
?Did you see the women??
?Yes, sir.?
Pete was sitting in one of the two folding chairs he had set up, his eyes averted, his shoulders rounded like the top of a question mark. He folded his arms across his chest and lowered his chin.
?Did you talk to the women??
?A girl fell down getting into the truck, and I he?ped her up.?
Hackberry could hear the wind gusting through the grass and the screens on the far side of the barn. ?By that time you knew you weren?t bringing in wets??
?Yes, sir.?
?Who did you think these women were??
?I didn?t want to know.?
?Housemaids??
?No, sir.?
?Fieldworkers??
?No, sir.?
?Did you think they were going to start up a laundry??
?I figured they were prostitutes. And I figured if they weren?t prostitutes already, somebody was fixing to turn them into prostitutes.? Pete?s eyes were shiny when he glanced sideways at Hackberry.
?You think I?m being too hard on you??
?No, sir.?
?That?s good, because the feds are going to be a lot harder.?
?I don?t care. I got to live with what I did. Fuck them.?
?They?re just doing their job, Pete. But that doesn?t mean we won?t do ours.?